


Ringing in the New Year

by georgiesmith



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiesmith/pseuds/georgiesmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is far from home on New Year's Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ringing in the New Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kanders07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanders07/gifts).



The moon was full, the night was clear. The moonlight glistened off the pristine snow so brightly that further illumination wasn’t needed in order to see. A lone figure slipped through the glass door leading on to the balcony. Holding a half-filled flute of champagne, he walked out towards the edge of the balcony before silently gazing out into the beautiful star-filled night, absentmindedly sipping at his drink lost in thought. Illya had held off as long as he could, but the ballroom had become stifling – the heat, the crowd, the string quartet whose viola player was badly out of tune – had all become too much after an hour. Illya had never particularly enjoyed diplomatic soirees but tonight was especially tedious as he was one of the guests of honor, as dubious as the “honor” was. He was here to escort the Soviet Union’s second U.N.C.L.E. agent to his Sydney post. Somewhere along the line what was to have been an overnight stop-over in Moscow before jetting south to Australia, dropping off his package and then heading back home had become a full-blown diplomatic mission, replete with meetings, debriefings, and photo calls requiring Illya to borrow a uniform for the occasion. After three straight days of this, he was exhausted. Although he was more than competent at diplomacy, it really was his partners’ forte. Illya much preferred time in the lab or even being shot at by Thrush agents to hours-long, tension-filled debriefings. Although his Soviet superiors appeared outwardly pleased with his performance with U.N.C.L.E., they had heard whispers and were concerned at his becoming too-Westernized; this caused Illya to fear that the addition of a new Soviet agent was a sign that he was to be recalled.

Illya vaguely noted that the string quartets mangling of Ravel’s “II Assez vif. Très rythmé” in the ballroom had finally come to a blissful end as he continued to gaze at the snowy expanse before him. The grounds surrounding the premier’s residence were lush and well-tended. As much as he loved his homeland, Illya knew the moment he set foot at the Sorbonne that the world was now his home. The feeling only intensified as he wandered through the hallowed halls of Oxford and later when the walked through the gunmetal corridors of U.N.C.L.E. HQ. He was suddenly struck that now when he thought of home, he didn’t see a place, but a person. 

Napoleon Solo had effortlessly slipped through his defenses. Napoleon’s fame preceded him so Illya thought he’d known what to expect when Mr. Waverly first formally introduced them. His time in survival school had been rife with tales of Napoleon’s exploits; how he’d breezed through even the most arduous courses with apparent ease and even garnering praise from the gruff Jules Cutter. His work in the field was already legendary. Young agents were rarely allowed to take on solo missions, yet Napoleon had, more often than not, and continued to get results. Illya still wasn’t exactly sure what prompted Mr. Waverly to pair them together, but he suspected the wily old fox was hedging his bets. Napoleon had been becoming more and more reckless in the field, so having a partner would help to rein him in. Secondly, even though U.N.C.L.E. was an international organization, many of the agents were veterans of the Korean conflict and had fought against the Communist forces there. Although Illya had received little in the way of bullying from U.N.C.L.E. employees overall, he could sense a deep-seated resentment towards himself whenever he’d been assigned a new post. Illya hadn’t thought about it at the time, but even though it was beyond the purview of his job, Napoleon had spent a lot of his downtime with Illya when he first arrived in New York. Wandering Illya’s neighborhood with him, showing Illya the sights, acclimating Illya to the sprawling metropolis in such a congenial way that it wasn’t long before he’d insinuated himself into most aspects of Illya’s life – in and outside of work. Illya hoped that circumstances would change enough so that one day he’d be able to return the favor and expose his friend to wonders and delights of Moscow.

Illya smiled softly to himself at the thought of wandering through the streets of this ancient city with his so obviously American friend. Even though Napoleon could read and speak Russian fluently, when they were in mixed company Napoleon would play his skills down, speak with a terrible accent or make obvious mistakes. Illya had initially found it odd that a man who took great pride in accomplishing everything he set out to do would be willing to be teased, sometimes mocked or, with less and less frequency, underestimated in his ability to speak and understand at least half-dozen languages. When Illya had asked him about it, Napoleon explained that in many cases, it put the innocents who found themselves embroiled in one of their affairs at ease thinking that they would be able to help in a meaningful way when they could speak the local lingo better than he could. When dealing with other agents, both U.N.C.L.E. and those from other organizations, he found early on in his career that it was caused less resentment when he was perceived as having visible flaws and, if he were lucky, they’d drop their guard around him, which had on one memorable occasion brought a mole to light in the heart of the CIA. Illya had taken Napoleon’s advice to heart and while not playing down any of his abilities, he softened the edges a bit to make himself more approachable. This didn’t stop the competition between the two men, neither of whom would do anything less than their best when they found themselves pitted against one another at the shooting range or in the gym.

Again he found himself wishing Napoleon were with him tonight. His friend always made these affairs more enjoyable by his mere presence. There was a time that ringing in the New Year alone wouldn’t have fazed him. He’d find himself at work or cloistered in his lab; last year he’d gone down to a small club in Soho and whiled away the evening listening to a tight jazz combo from Prague. This year, however, he found himself being whisked away by an unexpected tide of melancholy. His communicator weighed heavily in his breast pocket. Although they were intended solely for business use, he knew that some leeway was allowed between partners, especially during the holidays when communications were especially light.

His decision was made for him when he heard the familiar trilling noise alerting him of an incoming call. Glancing quickly around to visually confirm his privacy, Illya uncapped the device in one deft movement.

“Kuryakin here.”

“Well, hello partner mine,” came the familiar voice. “If I’ve timed this correctly, you’ve ensconced yourself somewhere away from the maddening crowds.”

“Have I become so predictable?” Illya chuckled.

“I just know you that well. So, library or balcony?”

“Balcony. The library was already occupied.”

He could hear Napoleon laugh quietly. “Weather reports indicate that it’s a fine night for stargazing where you are.”

Illya looked up at the clear night sky. “Indeed it is. It’s lovely out, though a bit chilly.”

“Illya, you said it was ‘a bit chilly’ when we were in the Yukon.” They both laughed at the memory.

Changing the subject, Illya said “I imagine you’ll be ready to head home shortly to prepare for your evenings festivities.”

“Festivities?”

“Come now, Napoleon. Surely you have plans to squire some beautiful blonde to some posh nightspot in Manhattan for a decadent evening under the pretense of ringing in the New Year.”

“I did have plans, yes, and with a beautiful blond, but they had to leave town and I find myself at loose ends for the night.”

“I find it hard to believe that you couldn’t find a replacement even at short notice.”

“Hmmm. Not this year. I’ve decided to wait and do my squiring upon their return.”

“Sounds serious.” Illya could feel his stomach clench. “You must have been seeing them for a while.”

“In a sense, although I haven’t built up the nerve to declare myself yet.”

Illya raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’ve been playing this close to the vest, Napoleon.”

“Needs must, _moy droog_ , especially when the stakes are so high,” Napoleon said before clearing his throat. “When are you heading home?”

“Wednesday, if things go as planned. We’re to fly out of here at five tomorrow morning with a brief layover in Tokyo before landing in Sydney. I’m to spend a few days helping Alexandrov get settled, and then there is a long series of flights back to New York.”

“Excellent. You can get yourself acclimated on Thursday and come over for dinner on Friday.”

Illya heard the quartet getting read to begin to play again in the ballroom. “Yes, that sound fine, Napoleon.” He heard the doors open and saw he was being beckoned inside. “It appears my attendance is required. I must go.”

“I’ll see you Friday at eight. _Spokoinoi nochi, liubimyi_. Happy New Year.”

“And to you Napoleon,” Illya replied distractedly as he put his communicator away, straightening his jacket and adjusting his cuffs while replaying the conversation with Napoleon in his mind. He couldn’t stop the smile from blooming at the sudden realization that _he_ was the beautiful blond with whom Napoleon was waiting for. He walked back towards the ballroom with renewed vigor. Friday could not arrive soon enough.

 

 

 

moy droog = my friend  
Spokoinoi nochi, liubimyi = goodnight my love


End file.
